The World is Quiet
by Somoene.Like.Me
Summary: And for a moment he feels that long buried feeling deep in his chest rising to the top, his heart jumping out to her. But his heart isn't in any place to do so, as she is so longer his.That is if she ever was.


**I actually wasn't going to post this, as I wrote it more than a few months ago and recently found it incomplete, but I finished it and did decide to post it just for the heck of it so enjoy!**

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

He stares blankly at the wilting purple flower that lays, lifeless, in the palm of his hand and the lone figure disturbs him more than it should have. This triggers a familiar yet foreign… pressure in his chest that could be considered as somewhat painful and he grimaces but keeps his steely grey eyes locked on the plant. The faded lavender petals that were shriveled slightly, the thin browning stem that seemed to have given up on holding itself up; he took in its dying appearance and felt his chest constrict as he realized what flower it was.

A violet.

She had always had a strange favoring to this particular flower. An odd and unpractical choice for a flower he had thought, but that was her. Odd and strange and unpractical at times.

He remembers the first time she told him; it was years ago and the memory should have been fuzzy and unclear but it's not. It feels fresh in his head and he picks it out easily. He can almost still hear her small footsteps echoing down the pathway of the garden, a light pitter-patter as her black shiny shoes tapped noisily against the stone. He remembers turning towards the noise only to face ivory skin, raven ponytails and large curious eyes staring back at him. He had asked who she was, his eyes sizing her up defensively and she had stepped closer and stretched a cautious but mannered hand towards him, introducing herself as Pansy Parkinson. Small, pale, and inviting, her hands were. Small, pale, and inviting, Pansy was.

'_Draco, like a dragon….do you like dragons?'_She had asked him as she had cocked her head to the side slightly, innocence and curiosity radiating from her, seeping into him.

Her voice had rung in his head as he had nodded curtly. But when he had asked if she favored Pansy's, she had shaken her head, dark ponytails swaying with the motion.

'_Violets. I like Violets.' _Her small pink lips forming the sentence softly before curling into a dainty smile, and she was roses and pearls.

And when he'd asked her why, she had simply shrugged her small shoulders and said '_because they're not Pansy's.' _

Even now, he doesn't understand what that had meant, after all, how does one even try to comprehend such a short yet endless string of words such as those? He thinks of it often, more so than he would care to admit, still trying to figure it out. Figure her out.

But she had always been one of the more elusive aspects of his life. Words didn't cover the half of her, of Pansy. And sometimes he thinks to himself that maybe she wanted to be that way. He remembers how she would tease him whenever he would ask her about what she had meant that day, never giving a complete answer and instead deciding to play with his mind. How she had gracefully weaved her way throughout the tall trees and plants, always obscuring his vision of her just when he'd thought he'd finally found her, caught up to her in her little games.

'_Don't be silly Draco, I'm right here'. _

He would hear her words against his neck, so close that her warm breath would caress his neck dauntingly and he would spin around, expecting to see her standing there only to find empty air. It was always like this. She would hide and he would seek, though his efforts were fruitless.

She was always an illusion, she was there, but she wasn't.

And when she had been there, they were always together. There had been no label for their relationship throughout those years between childhood and the start of adolescence; it was neither friendship nor romantic, neither love nor hate, neither more nor less of just Draco and Pansy. It was their own; they had made it that way, uncaring to the world beyond that. He wonders now what they had been then, for even he didn't know, only knows when it had started to change. When it all had changed, they and their partnership of sorts.

Once their first year had come about, their eyes had been clouded by curiosity yet tainted by emerald and silver. Their innocence had coalesced with something new and they had changed. He had watched her change into cold eyes, obnoxious remarks, and something that wasn't her. Pansy. And he had known he was becoming the same; cold eyes, obnoxious remarks, and just not him.

And another string had been added to the intricate braid that was them.

He frowns slightly as he remembers. His young eleven year old mind had been clouded with red and gold, hatred and lightning shaped scars; after all, one could not blame him, he was raised to be that way. And Pansy had been no different, the boy who lived unknowingly staining her and turning them both into unrecognizable shells of what they use to be.

But even as they changed, she was the only one who he had remained close to. Throughout second year and third, they had continued to be Draco and Pansy. But it was different. Sure, he had still been able to feel the familiarity and connection pulsing and throbbing erratically beneath his skin, beneath his ribcage, when they were together. That never seemed to cease, he realizes now as he can feel it, radiating emotion even now as he thinks of her. But he had not known what it was then, the concept foreign and impossible to him, as expected of boy of his age.

'_Merlin, is it even remotely possible for you not to be an obnoxious, stuck-up, spoiled jerk?'_ Raised voices, fired spells, cruel words.

When they were together, they would disagree and bicker, their two identical yet opposite beings clashing. Neither had any control over this, he hadn't wanted to fight with her, not really, but they had changed and it was simply beyond their control.

But deep within him he had wished that things could have been as they use to. Easy, carefree, and innocent. Pure. He would look at her as they argued and his mind would flash, dangerously, and he would see the small girl. Not cold eyes, obnoxious remarks, and pureblood superiority. Just ivory skin, raven ponytails, and large curious eyes. And he would delude himself into thinking she was still there, inside this girl who was beginning into a young woman, and that he might still be the young naïve boy he use to be. Their quarreling would cease then, and he would know she was thinking back too. There would be sudden silence, uncomfortable and consuming, until he would look into her dark eyes and ask her quietly if she liked Pansy's. Her answer was always the same, a shake to the head, and a vocal preference to violets. It was their form of….forgiveness. A temporary end to the arguments.

And that was how they continued to be Draco and Pansy. They would remember, overwhelming nostalgia present in the two of them, and they would become the two little children they once were, if only for a few moments. Emotions raw and exposed. Feelings vulnerable and strong.

But they had never apologized to one another, no, they never uttered those two words that would erase every cold and bitter thing they had just said to each other, because they just didn't do that. They didn't- couldn't- apologize because that would be stooping low for two beings of their status. And as he had thought this, he knew, even then, that no matter how hard they tried, they would always be tainted, cold eyes, obnoxious remarks, and pureblood superiority. Their innocence would never be fully restored even in those moments of absolution and peace.

He realizes now, as he opens his fist to stare at the limp flower once more, that one cannot stop change. Even if he, or Pansy, had put all of their effort and purpose into trying to be those two young children they once were, they wouldn't have been able to do it. It was and still is impossible. They had been changing, floating away from the two seven year olds and towards a life of darkness and wrong.

He sighs audibly and feels that it escapes his throat strangled and broken. He feels that pull- or was it a shove? - in his chest once more but the pain was becoming tenuous to him now. He doesn't understand it, where it's coming from, why it's here, what it is. He just wishes it would stop.

He can see her now, in the back of his mind dancing dangerously throughout his thoughts and he wants to reach out and grab her. Pull that graceful figure towards his body but he knows that's impossible; he lost the right to hold her, to cherish her, to _love _her years ago. He had never been able to hold onto her as she was constantly dancing close to him and then skittering away, teasing him with her presence, her heart, and her love. But he had let her slip away.

His mind flashes once more and suddenly its fourth year again. The year of the Tri Wizard Tournament. The year of the Yule ball. The year of Cedric Digory. The year boys grew taller and girls grew fuller. It had been a year of purple flowers, subconscious lovers, and first kisses. A rather important memory but it was somewhat of a forbidden fruit to him nowadays.

'_The ball, Draco, who are you taking to the ball?' _His answer had been immediate, no pause or hesitation- no thought even- it been almost like a reflex.

He remembers how her lips had curled upwards into a smile that had rarely graced her face anymore having been replaced by a seemingly permanent sneer. But she had been smiling then, at him. And that had been what made him want to smile with her, he didn't of course, he was a Malfoy after all. But he had wanted to, even if only for that moment.

He remembers how she had laughed softly then, her brown eyes darting to her hands folded nonchalantly in her lap, and for one of the first times in four years, it hadn't been laced with venom and spite, hate and cruelty, only humor and glee. It was a gentle sound, quiet as if she hadn't actually wanted anyone to hear it but he had. Loud and clear and lovely.

He had not been capable of imagining himself escorting any other girl. His eyes were blinded by her, Pansy, and her ivory skin, raven ponytails, and large curious eyes.

But then he had realized that she wasn't the same little girl who he had shared his strained childhood with. No, this girl was different, he remembered thinking as his eyes had delved a layer deeper and suddenly he could see her. And in that moment she had flooded through the banks in his conscience like a ferocious yet painfully graceful wave of unfamiliar feeling and emotion.

He had realized he had seen her change, like a movie set on slow motion, slowly but surely growing up, she had. He had grown himself, he was growing ever taller each day, his body lengthening, stretching out into long gangly limbs and awkward proportions. But he had never taken notice to the fact that she had been growing up too. And as he had been all verticality, she had just been beauty. Raw beauty.

He knew that in many ways she would have never been considered pretty in someone's eyes. She had an upturned nose that turned red when she was cold. Chewed down nails that she bit when she was thinking about something deeply. Slightly bushy eye brows that raised in question when she was skeptical of something. She didn't have a figure girls were jealous of, she wasn't graceful, and she didn't always choose the right words to say.

He use to watch in an endless fascination as her nose would turn countless shades of pink in the frigid atmosphere of the winter. He would reach up to grasp her pallid hand in his, gently tugging her hand away from her mouth, effectively ceasing the nail biting for the moment. He use to watch as her dark eyebrows rose to disappear behind her bangs, her eyes displaying pure skepticism and cynical emotion. But she was Pansy, and something about that intrigued him beyond mere words.

And his sudden realization and awareness of her distracted and teased his conscience more and more, the notion growing increasingly in his mind. Throughout most of that said year, she had been ever so….._there._ And it had frightened him, the growing mystery in his chest and he had realized then that the overwhelming feeling was suspiciously close to his heart. And as he had begun to contemplate that verboten concept and what it could have meant, he had been terrified.

But midnight blue satin, fuchsia stained lip gloss, and black orbed earrings distracted him. That night, the awaited ball had finally rolled around; she had descended the staircase, insecurity subtly etched into her features. He had looked up at her, and she was all beauty. Everything he had realized he fancied about her came bursting through the seams and it felt like a bittersweet punch to his face. Every fault and flaw had been molded together into the ethereal girl-no, young woman, before him. She was darkness as she walked, tenderly bitter yet undeniably beautiful. She had flooded his senses then, and did so now as he recalled that night. She was entrancing and terribly so.

And something in him had flickered, a light turned on, and suddenly that…._thing _in his chest exploded, breaking from where he'd hidden it beneath his ribs. Forbidden feelings had coursed through him, stripping him, quite figuratively, of his composure and sureness. He had been so sure she'd been able to see it, see through everything he'd worked to built up, see what he'd been hiding from not only her but himself.

That night had been bliss though, he had admitted to himself. That one night where the air had been alive with festivities, the emotions crisp and exposed. It should have been a night when he and Pansy had been Slytherins and the rest inferior as was usual, but it wasn't. All he had noticed was her, and her him.

It had been simply ethereal, that night, or maybe just Pansy.

Their lives had continued after that point, same as always, in that horribly twisted way that had become so familiar and welcomed. But something had changed, and he was sure they had both known it; he remembers how after that night, any time they were together there was a presence between them. It forced its way there no matter how much they repelled it, it would situate itself between them so strangely it made any conversation slightly uncomfortable, off. Like a chair where two of the legs are different heights, and there's a tilt, only a slight one, millimeters off but yet it's there, that everlasting tilt. That's how it was. It was a slight change, or at least it would seem, but it was there creating that tragically awkward aura around them that would last maybe forever after.

He wonders if it's still there, after all he hasn't seen her in years since Hogwarts, a fact that pained him greatly, it was. But then again, what would he say if he were to see her, he asks himself and realizes he doesn't know. How does one answer a question such as this pertaining to their first, maybe only love?

Fifteen. The cynical age that was probably the easiest for them. No, he takes the thought back, it wasn't. Their fifth year had been hard, as the increasing pressure to balance out his father, the return of the Dark Lord, his ever changing relationship with Pansy, and Harry Potter had piled up on his shoulders. Draining yet filling him with power he never knew he wanted, but welcomed. And Pansy, she had changed too, alongside him, the two of them slowly but surely becoming the two people they thought they wanted to be.

He had dated countless girls, for reasons unknown to even himself, and she had had her fair share of boys at her feet. But they had ignored the feeling between them that had overwhelmed them the previous year, the effort to push it away dominant in both of them.

And it makes him smile now, at how foolish he'd been to try and pretend that it wasn't there. That the feelings weren't there. But he also smiles at what their stubborn attitudes brought upon their next year.

That was the year he was at his peak, at his weakest yet strongest it seemed. From his task of the Dark Lord to the revenge on Harry Potter for the imprisonment of his Father. It had coursed through his veins eating away at him yet pushing harder and he been oh so close to cracking.

Until once upon a certain moon when it had happened. The night she had scooted a bit closer to him whispering nonsense about how he was lucky to be acquainted with the Dark Lord. The night he had whispered back, pretending that he was proud. Her lips had curled dauntingly into a smile as she opened her mouth as if to speak. The night he had leaned closer in anticipation. The very night she lad closed the distance and kissed him.

It had been awkward, with her hand on his knee for support and him turned at a rather odd angle. It had felt like a first kiss, every other meaningless one eradicated from his mind. And it had been like a splash of cold water to his face, a sudden awakening to his senses, she was.

But as he had drowned himself in her, if only for a few moments, the possibility that he may love her had danced across the dark premises of his mind teasingly. The concept was foreign to him though he'd seen it before, seen it in the cold eyes of his parents even, in the way they spoke to each other and the way they moved around each other it was there. Even when he knew they tried to make it small and hidden, it was there. And at that moment he could have recognized the very same look mirrored in his and Pansy's hooded eyes.

Stolen kisses, meaningful stares, and powerful feelings. Over the course of the next four years, that's all they were, on the outside at least. Throughout the defeat of the Dark Lord, the reunion of his broken family, the silent truce with Harry Potter, they had remained this way. It would seem to one, an outsider maybe, that they had fallen deeply within a darkness which was love. Which they had, truthfully. And he was sure they had known it too, only that's what broke them. They knew it but never said it.

When his mother and Father had proposed the idea of marriage he had brushed it off as if it was a far off preposterous notion.

When she herself brought up the timid topic one crisp autumn afternoon, as they had walked along a small path littered with colored leaves and footprints, he had halted abruptly. She had avoided his eyes for a few moments before finally looking up to meet his scrutinizing gaze.

'_Marriage, Draco, have you ever thought about it?' _She had asked him gently after a moments silence.

But he had only turned away then, a bit uncomfortable because honestly he had thought about it. Not particularly in a serious way, but he had.

'_It doesn't sound so bad….that is if we…love…each other.'_ She had looked at him then, stopped fiddling with the hem of her blouse and really looked at him. _'I love you Draco….'_

He still avoided her gaze as she stated the fact he already knew. And he had felt that blasted organ beneath his ribs jump a bit as she spoke, as her gentle words caressed his conscience.

And he had known what she was expecting. What she was expecting him to say.

'_Do you love me Draco?'_

She had never asked him that before, though he had known it was only a matter of time.

He also had known that she knew the answer. She knew he loved her even if he didn't say it. Yet he knew that wasn't enough for her, she needed to hear it, to watch the words spill out of his mouth and tumble towards her.

But they wouldn't.

Every single time he had tried to say it, they would catch in his throat. They would betray him, turn around and run from him, from her, from reality.

And he had tried to say it then, he truly did. His lips had parted ever so slightly and she had moved closer…ever so slightly. He had repeated them in his head, in his heart. He had felt them crawling up his throat, through his veins, and dancing through his teeth. They weaved in and out, taunting him with their presence just as his voice made to speak.

But again, it left him. The _'I love you'_ he so badly wanted to say froze in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue and she knew.

And then he had watched her nod gently before taking a few steps back from him, the hurt evident on her face. He had wanted to move closer to her, to wrap his arms around her and tell her he loved her. But he had been frozen to the spot, forced to watch her mumble a quiet good bye before turning and walking away from him.

He had cracked then. Allowed the pain to engulf him, bite and snap at his being, knowing he deserved it. And he embraced it then, for those few moments as he stood, a broken man, alone on that pathway which suddenly had seemed so much longer and endless. And he had stayed there, until the daylight melted away revealing a beautiful darkness that surrounded him in his misery.

But when he had finally turned and began walking, he had also began to create another mask, another layer to cover up this pain and weakness that only Pansy could cause him.

Sometimes he wishes he had followed her, and then he wonders what his life would be like now if he had.

He drops the flower then, crumpled from the strength of his hand. He turns towards his wife and son who are talking and saying goodbye quietly, before Scorpius leaves for his first year. He moves towards them and glances around the train station his eyes falling upon a certain couple in the crowd.

It's a man and a woman, turned slightly away from him but he recognizes her instantly. The way she's standing, the cut of her hair. And then they turn, towards a young dark haired girl and he can see her. She looks the same as he remembers only she's smiling this time, not frowning sadly. And it pains him to know that the man with her holding who must be their second daughter and who happens to be Theodore Nott, was the one to put that smile on her face.

He also notices with a slight jolt, how simply round with obvious pregnancy Pansy was.

And as he's watching them, the busy bustling of the crowd around him oblivious to him, he sees her dainty head look up as if sensing him and she catches his gaze. He swallows with obvious difficulty as she smiles gently at him, a flicker of sadness in her eyes, before she turns back to her own family. Meaning he should turn back to his.

For a moment his mind runs away from him and he sees a different future, with Pansy in it. But he knows that's not his, and he also knows he wouldn't trade his life with his son for the world.

For a moment he wishes he could see the amount of pain he feels reflected in her, hopes that she hurts as much as he does. But he knows that she's happy now, and he should be happy for that.

And for a moment he feels that long buried feeling deep in his chest rising to the top, his heart jumping out to her.

But his heart isn't in any place to do so, as she is so longer his.

That is if she ever was, that Pansy he so loved.

**Hope you liked it!**


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